


Feel It Still

by roqueamadi



Category: Men in Black (Movies), Men in Black: International, Men in Black: The Series
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Post-MiB International, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, nightmares and flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roqueamadi/pseuds/roqueamadi
Summary: After the events on the Eiffel Tower, H is having debilitating flashbacks and nightmares, and they keep getting worse. M decides to get to the bottom of it. For purely professional reasons, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just saw the movie last night, and while I know it was objectively not that good, I love it, and I am in love with this ship (and Thorkyrie, but that's another story). It helps that Men in Black was, like, my original number 1 fandom obsession, though this is my first time posting fic for it. Also, apparently, the first (hopefully not only) fic in English on AO3 for this movie. So apologies for any tag failures, there was literally no options so I had to make them all up.
> 
> Okay so I know MiB has always used ‘spelled out’ codenames (Jay, Kay as opposed to J and K) and I prefer that too, but H… presents problems. How the heck do you spell that out without it looking weird or getting into an argument in your brain about how to pronounce it?? Anyway, here is what I’m going with, as I don't think there's any kind of convention yet. I hope they're not grating.
> 
> H = Aich; M = Em; T = Tea; C = Cee; O = Oh
> 
> [HOW THE HECK DO THEY HAVE SO MANY AGENTS WHEN THEY HAVE APPARENTLY ALREADY USED LIKE 30% OF AVAILABLE CODENAMES??]
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this. *Spoilers* from the film, obviously. Title is from the song by Portugal, The Man.

Weeks had passed since the Hive incident.

There had been a funeral, which Em attended with mixed feelings. It hadn’t been spread around too widely that Tea had turned out to be a traitor and a mole, which made it somewhat awkward to sit through all the emotional speeches about what a great man he'd been (Aich declined to contribute, though Oh made a valiant effort).

Aich had started straight away as the new head of the London division, and he’d come up with a joint project with New York after a total of three days in the job, which meant Em had been spending more time back in London than New York, after all.

Em still stood by her belief that relationships were a waste of time (because that was definitely true) but, given that, it was hard to account for the fact that she was both relieved and strangely happy to continue to work with Aich. It might have even increased her productivity and output. Friendships were different to ‘relationships’, though, of course (she’d never really bothered to find out before).

“Have you had dinner yet?”

Em looked around from her computer, blinking as the world outside the document she was working on came back into focus. Aich was standing by her desk, his jacket slung over his shoulder in a way that looked decidedly practised. Em squinted at him, then back at the computer to check the time.

“Dinner?” she muttered, realising with a jolt that four hours had passed since she started work on this dossier. It was past 6pm, on a Friday, and everyone else in the office had gone.

Her stomach growled loudly, and Aich grinned. “That’s a no, then. Come on, let’s go.”

He spun her chair around as he sauntered past, and Em stumbled to her feet, reaching for her jacket.

“Where are we going? Is it a mission?”

“No, it’s dinner,” he shot over his shoulder.

She frowned, tugging her jacket on as she hurried after him. “But is there some recon or something we’re doing at the same time, like—”

He stopped and turned, and she almost crashed into him. “No, it’s to put food in you so your stomach stops making those noises. What, haven’t you ever been to dinner before?”

Em clenched her jaw and didn’t reply, following him into the elevator and then out onto the street.

It was busy, as usual, cars clogging the road and people hurrying up and down the street, but at least it wasn’t raining, for once. She fell into step with him and felt suddenly awkward. There was no one else with them, and no mission to focus on.

“I should be able to finish that dossier tonight,” she blurted. “It’s a little complex in some parts, the data is all over the place, but it’s coming together.”

“Good,” he replied. “But leave it til Monday, there’s no rush. What are you doing this weekend?”

Em opened her mouth to reply, then paused, confused. “Well, the project is paying for my time here," she said slowly. "I’m working.”

“You still get weekends. This isn’t America, we have labour regulations,” he teased.

Em raised an eyebrow. “Which labour regulator covers the Men in Black, exactly?” she asked, with exaggerated curiosity.

“Well, we have _policies_. Trust me, I’ve just spent the past month being trained in them.”

“Right. So this is why we’re doing this, then? So that you can be sure you’re enforcing the _policies_?”

He glanced down at her with half a smile. “Right.”

 

He steered her with a hand on the small of her back off the footpath to the door of a restaurant. She hesitated, as he held the door for her. It was a _nice_ restaurant. She watched him the whole time, as he asked for a table for two, followed the waiter through the maze of white tablecloths, folded himself into the seat in the corner, the candlelight reflecting on his hair.

“What do you want?”

“Huh?” She snapped out of a daze—his hair sometimes had that effect on her—and realised he was pointing at her menu.

She looked down at it. “I don’t know,” she said, running her eyes over the options.  _What the heck is ‘pommes dauphinoise’?_   “I don’t even know what any of these things are. This is—like—a _fancy_ place.”

He grinned at her concerned expression. “What, would you prefer I took you to McDonald’s?”

“No—” He started to get up as though to leave. “ _No,_ ” she whispered, and grabbed his arm to pull him back down again, as he laughed. “It’s fine,” she said stiffly. “I just… Usually don’t go to places like this.” _Usually?_   The voice in her head snorted.

“Just get the steak, can’t go wrong,” he said, and raised a hand to call the waiter over.

Once they had ordered, he reached over to pour water for her. “So,” he said. “How come you don’t _usually_ go to places like this? You’re on a good wage, aren’t you?” he paused, and glanced at her. “Aren’t you?” he repeated.

Em nodded quickly. “I am. It’s better than anything I’ve had before.”

“Which was?”

She hesitated. “Well, I did lots of things, to make sure I got the right experience. But to earn money, mainly I worked in IT support.”

He almost choked on his glass of water. “Helpdesk?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. Companies are always desperate to fill their gender quota, so I could get a job anywhere. I was pretty good, too.”

“Well, I’ll remember to call you the next time I get a virus.”

“Sure,” she grinned menacingly. “Just give me your password and I’ll sort that right out for you.”

He laughed appreciatively. “I can see that ending badly.”

Dinner was… pleasant. She couldn’t argue with that. It was nice to spend time with him, talking about non-work things—well, at least work-peripheral things. Em didn’t do many things aside from work, and the gym. The fact was she loved her job, so she didn’t see a problem with that—though Aich seemed to consider it an achievement to have gotten her to take a long enough break to have dinner.

As they were leaving, Em was even partially convinced that perhaps she should just go back to her quarters and… she didn’t know what; read a book, or something? But that was all struck out of her head as soon as they left the restaurant, when several things happened at once.

They had stepped outside and were moving onto the footpath. It was still busy. A car turned the corner nearby, its headlights flaring directly at them. She held up a hand to cover her eyes automatically, saw Aich do the same thing. Then, at the same time, a man walking in the other direction bumped into Aich, shouldering him hard, with a “watch it, mate” shot over his shoulder.

She glanced back at Aich, half-expecting him to fire up in response, but instead, he was suddenly frozen in place. His eyes looked strange, pupils almost invisible, his whole body fixed in place.

“Aich?” she said, hesitantly. He didn’t respond. She stepped over to him, put a hand on his arm. “Hey,” she shook him slightly. When he still didn't respond, she glanced around furtively before saying in a lower voice, “Henry?”

He blinked and unfroze, focusing on her after a moment, looking confused.

“Are you alright?” she asked, when he still hadn’t said anything.

“Er, yeah. I don’t…” he trailed off, and looked around, as though he didn’t know where he was.

“Did that guy hit you in the head?” she asked suddenly, reaching up to grab his jaw and turn his head to the side, checking for some kind of injury.

“What? No,” he said, pulling away. “I’m fine. Come on, let’s go home.”

It was like a complete change in his personality. He had gone from being bright and joking, his usual self, to suddenly taciturn and quiet. They made their way back to headquarters and then to the Agents’ quarters, without saying another word.

He muttered a quick “night” as he swiped into his room, and left her standing in the hallway.

 _Odd_.

She went back to her room, and thought about messaging him to check if he was alright. She fell asleep before deciding to actually do it.

 

He was fine the next day; back to usual. He didn’t even seem to remember, or perhaps want to discuss, what happened the night before. And, although he’d made a big deal about it being the weekend, an urgent mission came up, and he didn’t stop her when she volunteered for the squad.

The mission went fine. Well, as fine as it could go, in terms of a raid on an illegal alien weapons dealer which turned out to be much more heavily protected than they’d expected. 24 hours after they were sitting in a quiet restaurant together with candlelight, they were sitting on a dark shop floor, barricaded behind the counter as smashed glass and laser bullets rained over their heads, when something _odd_ happened to Aich again.

It was worse this time.

In the middle of the firefight—literally in the middle of yelling instructions to the team over the comm—he suddenly stiffened up and keeled over on the floor. For a moment Em thought he’d been hit, and something painful flared powerfully in her chest as she dived toward him, but then she saw he wasn’t obviously hurt, and he was breathing. But his eyes had that strange look to them again.

“Aich?” she yelled, slapping his cheek. He didn’t respond.

She grabbed the comm out of his stiff fingers and took over. “Squad A take the south entrance, squad B cover, go now!” she yelled into it, then tossed it aside and turned back to her—her _boss_.

“Aich? Wake up, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

He didn’t respond. He was starting to shake, now. She grabbed him under his arms and hauled him upright—he was _heavy_ —and sat him against the counter. She pressed her fingers under his jaw to test his pulse, and found it racing.

“Aich, come on,” she muttered, kneeling in front of him, hands on both shoulders, shaking him slightly. His muscles were taut under her hands, and he was still shivering. She leaned closer so she wouldn’t have to yell as loud over the sound of the firefight. “ _Henry,_ ” she said in his ear. “Wake up!”

It worked, the same as last time. He gave one powerful shudder and blinked, groaning slightly, and finally met her eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, voice tight. His hand came up to grip her sleeve.

“You… You froze up again." She repressed the urge to say more; it wasn't the time. "Can you stand?”

He nodded, though he looked pale. She hauled him to his feet.

They completed the raid with no one seriously injured. It was a success, but Em didn’t feel the same thrill she usually got at the completion of a successful mission. Instead, she couldn’t drag her eyes away from Henry.

...She’d also, somehow, started calling him that in her own head, and couldn’t seem to stop.

She waited to say something until they they got back to headquarters and out of earshot of the others. "Hey," she said quietly, standing next to him in the armoury as they returned all their weapons to the racks. "You should go to the med bay. Whatever happened back there, it wasn’t normal. You should get it checked out.”

He shook his head, dismissive. “Not now, Em.”

She trailed after him out of the armoury and to the elevator, down to quarters. He was going to disappear into his room again, and in the morning he would refuse to acknowledge what had happened, and she felt anxiety gripping her insides that this _thing_ would happen again, and they might not be so lucky the next time.

She ran to catch up with him as he stepped out of the elevator and made for his room, grabbing his arm to halt him before he got there. He turned, regarding her with tired eyes. “Listen,” she said. “This is serious. You need to be monitored. What if it happens while you’re asleep and you— choke on your tongue, or something?”

She expected him to roll his eyes at that, or make a sarcastic comment, or perhaps to just ignore her completely, but instead he shrugged. “You can monitor me, if you like.”

There was a hint of his usual suave sarcasm under there, but muffled.

She frowned, following as he continued down the hall, past the kitchenette, to his door. “What, like…” she watched him swipe the door open. “You mean… You want me to…?”

He was holding the door for her, and for some reason her stomach made a strange swooping feeling.

“You’re the one who said you want to, rookie,” he said.

“I said a doctor should.”

“Well, unless you have a doctor handy,” he shrugged, and released the door to let it close in her face.

“No,” she said, sticking her foot out to catch it, her mind racing. It was true what she’d said, he had something going on that was dangerous, and she’d never forgive herself if he actually did have some kind of _attack_ when he was alone. Both times previous it had taken her pulling him out of it for him to wake up. What if he was locked in his room with no-one to help?

“Alright, I’ll stay,” she said, her voice slightly unsteady, and he gave a faint grin.

“Alright.”

She stepped across the threshold. The door swung shut behind her. He wandered through, tugging off his jacket and tie and tossing them over a chair on his way to the bathroom. It was suddenly very quiet and very _close_ , and her stomach did that swooping thing again.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. His room was much the same as all the others. Messier, perhaps, but still—there was a table, a wardrobe, a bathroom, a _bed_ —one bed, to be exact. Of course. Like all the other rooms. She knew that.

“You know I snore, right?” he called from the bathroom. Em ignored him, and took a moment to try to get her thoughts in order. It was a big bed—a queen size, at least—and it wasn’t like she was sixteen, she could share a bed with a friend and not freak out about it. She considered for a moment going back to her room to get her pyjamas and brush her teeth, then quickly dismissed that idea. This wasn’t a slumber party. She was here to do a job. Like a… nurse. Or a lawyer.

She was still standing frozen just inside the doorway when he emerged from the bathroom, and any professional resolve she’d drawn together melted away again at the sight of him in nothing but his boxer shorts. He was walking towards her, and she didn’t think she looked remotely professional enough, and she thought he knew exactly what he was doing, by the slight smirk on his face (not that it helped to know that) but now he was right in front of her, and was she meant to say something?

“What?” she blurted, and he blinked.

“Toothbrush,” he said, glancing at the cardboard packet he was holding up, that she’d completely failed to notice.

“Oh,” she said, her voice breaking. “Thanks.”

He turned away, and threw himself on the bed. She made it to the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and leant back on it, momentarily overwhelmed by the strong smell of his cologne which permeated the whole room. She swallowed hard.

 _You can do this. You are an_ adult _, for god's sake_. She straightened her back, and shed her jacket and tie and shoes, and brushed her teeth.

She rehearsed.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, alright?” she whispered to herself in the mirror. “First thing tomorrow, you’re going to med. I’m just making sure you get there.”

She nodded to her reflection sternly, and left the bathroom. She drew breath to say the line as she stepped around the corner—but cut herself off in the face of a soft snore.

He was already asleep, sprawled across the far side of the bed, the blankets barely even covering his stomach.

She sighed. And then turned out the lights and slid carefully in on the other side. She lay in the darkness, his breathing nearby, surrounded by his scent, and soon faded into sleep.

 

She was jolted awake. She didn’t know if it was minutes or hours later. Something had set her heart racing, and she lay still for a moment, listening, frozen.

“No, I don’t want to,” Henry’s voice came, slightly slurred but quite clear, next to her.

“Don’t want what?” she asked automatically, turning her head towards him. There was enough light from the digital clock on the bedside table that she could see his face. He was asleep.

She sat up, carefully. Was he sleep talking?

She drew breath to say his name, but was cut off.

“I don’t—” he said loudly. “Don’t deserve it. Don’t. Don’t.”

“Henry,” she said, shifting closer. He was starting to sound distressed. “Henry, wake up.” She reached out to shake him, but hesitated at his bare skin.

“No, no, no, no—” his head turned side to side, and he sounded _upset,_ enough to jolt her into action, and she grabbed his shoulder firmly, his skin warm and smooth under her fingers.

“Wake up. Henry. It’s just a nightmare.” She shook him. She wasn’t expecting his other arm to suddenly swing out at her, hard, but her reactions were quick enough; she blocked him, and when he surged up at her she stopped him quickly with a forearm across his throat and his arm twisted behind him.

“What—what the shit, Em—” he spluttered, and she released him.

“You tried to attack me,” she said. He flopped back onto his back, looking up at her.

"I did?" he asked, uncertainly.

She nodded, and slid awkwardly back to her side of the bed. "Must have been some nightmare. Do you remember what it was about?"

He rubbed both hands over his face, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know. Tea, I suppose.”

“When he died?” she asked, delicately.

He shook his head, hands still threaded through his hair. “No. From a long time ago.”

Em frowned. She’d thought they’d had a close relationship, almost like a father and son. Why, then, had he sounded so distressed? 

“I’m fine,” he said, before she could open her mouth to ask. “Go back to sleep.”

 

He thwarted her plans of taking him straight to the med bay in the morning, because when she woke up he was already gone. She felt embarrassment run through her for a moment at the thought of him moving around the room, getting ready, with her lying there snoring her face off in front of him. She pushed it aside. She also resisted the urge to investigate his room. Knowing him, he’d have some way of telling if she'd snooped through his drawers, though the urge was strong. She used the bathroom, put her jacket and shoes back on, and left.

...And then realised that she really ought to have thought about this more carefully, because she stepped through the door and let it close behind her, pausing to stretch—and froze halfway through the movement as she realised Aich’s room was right opposite the kitchenette, and Cee was standing there with toast hanging out of his mouth, staring at her.

He recovered first. “Morning, Em,” he said, barely repressing a smirk, once he swallowed the toast.

“Morning. I wasn’t— he’s not in there. I was just. It’s not. I—”

“Hey, what you do in your own time is none of my business,” Cee cut her off, holding both palms up, grinning broadly.

“Right. Well. See you, then.”

“See you.”

She didn’t miss the little snigger that followed her down the hall.

 

Mid-morning, she finished at the gym and was heading back to her room. Her route took her past the science labs, and it occurred to her to pause to see if Dr Zeeltor was in. The alien scientist had been a permanent fixture of the Men in Black for decades, as far as she knew, and the odds were high he’d be in his lab on a Sunday morning.

She was right; as she wandered through the labs, she heard him muttering to himself before she saw him. He was bent over an experiment in what looked like a fish tank.

“Morning, Zeeltor,” she said. He looked up, his bulbous eyes brightening slightly against his bubblegum-blue skin.

“Agent Em! What brings you by this morning?”

He had a way of being permanently cheerful, even while giving bad news, which got on many people’s nerves, but she didn’t mind. “I just had a question," she said, leaning against one of the benches. "I’m not sure if you’ll know, but I thought it was worth asking.”

“Fire away,” he said, putting down the test tube in his three-fingered hand and turning his attention to her.

“Well, I was just wondering… What happens if someone—a human—gets neuralised a lot? Like a _lot_? Are there any side effects?”

“Hmm. We don’t have much data on that. There have been some cases, though. Evidence shows that, when there is very significant overuse, there are certain side-effects. Older, deleted memories, may start to bleed through.”

“Bleed through? Like… in nightmares?”

He nodded. “Yes, precisely. Or in very vivid flashbacks, for example. Repeated neuralisation will also eventually start to have a more… _damaging_ effect, causing pain. And there will be lowered resistance to the timeframe selection. That is, the neuraliser becomes extra effective.”

“So they would lose more memory than intended?”

“Yes, that’s what we’ve seen before. It’s better that if a member of the public has been exposed to such an extent, they be placed under some kind of witness protection and put in a situation where they are unlikely to need any further neuralisaiton.” He hesitated. “Is there a specific subject you’re concerned about?”

Em sighed. “Not a member of the public. Don’t say anything, but it’s Aich. I don’t know for certain, but I have a feeling… I think Tea might have neuralised him a lot.”

Zeeltor’s face saddened uncharacteristically. “Yes, I had heard that the original Hive incident was fabricated with the use of the neuraliser. You think it happened more than once?”

"He has those symptoms," Em said with a shrug. "He keeps having vivid flashbacks, like you said. They make him completely freeze up. And the nightmares, too. He won’t admit it’s happening. I don’t know how long it’s been going on, but it’s getting dangerous.”

Zeeltor nodded. “In that case, I would recommend that he be referred for urgent psychiatric treatment. I think it would be possible to recover, but if he doesn’t properly address it, the symptoms will keep getting worse.”

“Right,” Em sighed. “Well, that’s unlikely to happen.”

“I could order it,” Zeeltor suggested, hesitantly. “I have the authority to bring Agents in for mandatory treatment.”

Em made a face. “Not yet. I’ll try to talk to him first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written this much so quickly in ages lol. If anyone reads this, seriously, let me know, I feel like I'm the only one who has seen the movie and not hated it xD


	2. Chapter 2

Em didn’t see or hear from Henry for the rest of the day. Not that she _cared._ She spent her Sunday afternoon finishing the dossier. It was quiet in the office. Though MiB headquarters never, technically, shut down, it was definitely quieter. There were still aliens coming and going through customs, but over in her section there was only a light weekend shift of one or two others coming and going, and by 5pm it was deserted.

Em liked it when it was like this. She liked being able to focus, with no distractions. She went to the bathroom for a break, and then returned to her desk, sitting down to scroll through the document. It was done, really, but she thought she could add a few more insights if she dug a bit deeper into the data. She cracked her knuckles, preparing to get back into it for another few hours, when her phone rang. She glanced down at it. Henry was calling.

At first, she considered ignoring it. Then she was filled with annoyance, and she grabbed the phone, swiping to answer and shoving it to her ear.

“You know, you’re a complete idiot. I told you to go to the med bay and you completely ignored me. It’ll be your own fault if you fall over and hit your head and die in a ditch.”

She sat fuming in silence for several seconds, waiting for his reply. When it finally came, the anger dropped out of her all at once.

“Molly?” His voice was shaky. He didn’t sound right.

“Henry?” she said automatically, forgetting to check no one was around until after she'd said it; luckily, the section was still deserted.

“Em, are you there?” He sounded ill, or frightened—something not like him at all.

“I’m here, can you hear me?” Silence, except for shallow breathing for a few seconds. “Henry?” she repeated.

“Can you come get me?”

“I—” A ghost of resistence crossed her mind. She was _working_. Work was more important than any relationship. She should tell him to just call a cab for himself, like an adult... That thought was brief, and it was immediately crushed by something that felt very much like a beast sitting inside her chest screaming  _protect_ so loudly that it completely drowned out all of the anger and annoyance from before. Henry was her friend and he needed her help. She got to her feet. “Where are you?”

“Molly, I don’t feel good.”

“I’ll come get you, just tell me where you are.”

Her phone buzzed against her ear, and she pulled it away for a second to check it. It was a notification from Henry’s account. He’d shared his location with her. “Okay, I’ve got you,” she said into the phone, peering at the map. “You’re—you’re not far away, I think.”

“Can you come?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She was at the elevator. She took it up to the street level, the phone glued to her ear with Henry’s shallow breathing coming through. She hurried across the foyer and out onto the street, turned left— and he was there. Sitting on the edge of the footpath, the knees of his suit pants torn and bloody where he must have fallen over. He let the phone drop from his ear when he saw her.

“Em.”

“What happened?” she asked, kneeling next to him and checking him over. His palms were grazed too, but he didn’t seem injured otherwise.

“I don’t feel good,” he said again. He did look pale, even in the street light.

“Did you have another flashback?” she asked.

He nodded.

“They’re getting worse,” she said, gritting her teeth. “Henry, you _have_ to see someone about this. It’s not going to go away on its own.”

He was shaking his head. “No, you don’t understand. I’ve tried. I spoke to one of them, the… psychiatrist, a while ago. The look on his face when I told him about Tea—I can’t do it. I can’t stand telling people he wasn’t what they thought he was. He was good and important to so many people—”

“But if he actually _wasn’t_ good, why bother protecting his memory? It won’t hurt him now.”

“He was like a father to me.”

Em froze. There was a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach. “ _How_ was he like a father to you?” she asked quietly.

“He was…” Henry frowned. “He was… like a father… to me,” he repeated. “I don’t…” he frowned. “I can’t…”

She put a hand to his cheek, making him meet her eyes. “Tea neuralised you," she said. "I think he did it a lot. He did it so much he caused damage. It’s not your fault, and you don’t have to protect him.” She paused. “Do you remember anything about him? From early on?”

“But it’s true. You don't understand.”

“Then explain it to me so I do. I already know the truth about him, you won’t be letting me down.”

“I was recruited at 19, Em. I was 19, and I’d never had a father. And I was… it was easy for him. I’d do anything he said. He told me what to do on missions, what to say in meetings, so that I looked good, so that I stood out. None of it was _me_. I was an average agent. _Below_ average. It’s all fake. I don’t deserve this position.”

Em grabbed his shoulders. “Listen to me,” she said fiercely. “He may have done those things, but that’s what anyone would do when they’re training a rookie. Maybe you didn’t know what to do or say at the start, but you learned. And now you’re a good agent because you worked hard for it. And that has nothing to do with him. You’ve been doing it for months already, without him, and you’ve been great. Right?”

Henry didn’t reply to that. His gaze was fixed on his hands. Em sat back on her heels, trying to decide what to do. She wanted to take him to the med bay, but she knew he didn’t want to go, and the last thing she wanted to do was force more on him against his will. She could get him back to his room, at least, and decide what to do from there. She reached to get her hands under his arms, to lift him, when he spoke again.

“He hit me once.”

It was so quiet that Em barely heard it, but she didn’t need him to repeat it. She wasn’t sure what to say. She froze, her arms around his chest, afraid to move in case she distracted him, as he continued to speak.

“Some of the memories are coming back,” he said, waving a hand vaguely at his head. “I remember that. He neuralised me, after. And it made me think… sometimes, I’d have bruises, and I couldn’t remember where they came from. I assumed I’d just walked into the bar at the gym, or the table, or something.” He gave a hollow kind of laugh. “Stupid,” he muttered.

The beast in her chest--the one that had been screaming _protect_ so loudly she could barely hear any of her own thoughts—ruptured into something else, at this. Something hot, burning in her chest, enough that she tasted bile in the back of her throat.

She hauled him to his feet, holding him upright until he got his legs under him, but she didn’t let him go. She pulled him close, her arms wrapped around his chest. _It’s a hug_ , she registered vaguely somewhere in her brain. _That’s what this is_. She couldn’t remember the last time she hugged someone. It probably wasn’t much comfort for him; her head barely came higher than his chest; but after a moment his arms fell around her back, and he tipped his head until his cheek rested against her hair.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but after a while Henry stopped shuddering, and she figured he was okay to walk.

Word would get back to Oh, she supposed, that Henry had walked past the doorman on a Sunday night with odd injuries, supported by a Junior Agent. They could deal with that later.

She got him to his room. He staggered in and collapsed on the bed, kicking his shoes off and rolling over, curling into a ball. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and looked for the number to the med bay. She could ask them to come down here and get him, she supposed. Though, she wasn’t sure what she’d tell them.

Sighing, she put her phone away.

“Henry,” she said loudly. “Don’t go to sleep yet. We need to clean up those grazes. I’ll just get my first aid kit, alright?”

He grunted something at her, and she turned to go.

This time she did pack a small bag of things from her room. She wasn’t leaving him alone tonight, that was for sure, and if he laughed at her daggy sweat pants and old gym shirt that she used for pyjamas, she didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you thought, or chat with me [on Tumblr!](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) ^_^
> 
> I also started [a sideblog dedicated to H/M,](https://mibhandm.tumblr.com/) if you're interested :D


	3. Chapter 3

Em was tired the next day.

She’d stayed with Henry overnight. After she’d cleaned the gravel out of the grazes on his knees and palms, and stuck plasters over them, they’d talked into the early hours of the morning. It had seemed to help him, talking through it all, going over the little bits of memory coming back to him, and today he seemed tired but a bit more cheerful, and a bit more like his regular self, and that alone made it feel like it was worth all the effort. It was an odd feeling, for her.

They were queuing for mid-morning coffee at their regular cafe in MiB customs, when Em’s phone rang. She didn’t recognise the number, so she walked a few steps away to answer it.

“Agent Em? It’s Doctor Zeeltor here. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been thinking a bit more about Agent Aich, and what you told me. I was hoping you might be able to convince him to come down to my lab later today for some tests?”

Henry was standing in the queue, waiting for her. She glanced over at him, and he smiled. She turned her back to him.

“Some tests?” she asked, her voice low. “What for?”

“Well, I don’t want to alarm you, but I do think it’s important that we monitor whatever is causing these symptoms for him. And I might be able to help.”

“Is he alright?” she asked, anxiety spreading through her chest like ice.

“Get him to come down here and we’ll just make one hundred percent sure he’s alright.”

Em nodded. “Okay. I’ll try.”

She hung up and took two deliberate breaths, making sure to erase any hint of anxiety from her expression before turning back to Henry.

“Everything alright?” he asked immediately, looking concerned.

Em sighed. “So, listen,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Dr Zeeltor wants to see you in his lab, today if possible?”

“Oh? What for?” he asked, frowning. Her act wasn't fooling him. 

Em deliberated. She didn’t see how she could get out of telling him that she’d talked about him behind his back. She took a deep breath before forging ahead. “So, I kind of… told him about you.”

“Told him… what about me?”

“I’m sorry, I tried not to, and it was in confidence, and, well I’m glad I did because he knows about the effects of excessive neuraliser use, and anyway—”

“What did you tell him?” Henry cut her off. He sounded pissed now, a tone she didn’t think she’d ever heard from him before, particularly not directed at her, and she swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth.

“I only went to ask him what the effects would be, if someone was neuralised a lot. He told me, and he described it, and it was the _exact_ thing you’re going through, so I told him it was you, because I was worried, and—”

She was losing him. His expression had clouded over, and he was leaning away from her, shaking his head.

“Aich, I’m sorry,” she said, wishing she hadn’t started this conversation here, in public. “He wants you to go see him today because he wants to run some tests to make sure— Aich!”

He turned and walked away from her.

 

Em ordered coffee for him, and brought it with hers back to their desks, and sat the cardboard cup next to his keyboard, and then watched it grow cold. He was nowhere to be seen. She returned to her work, but found she couldn’t concentrate. A feeling, something like dread, had settled in her stomach, and it was unfamiliar and unpleasant.

What had she done? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cared about anyone’s opinion of her to this extent. She didn’t know what to do. Should she call him? Should she go and try to find him?

Would he ever talk to her again?

She took a deep breath and pushed the feelings down hard. This wasn’t like her. What did she care if he was going to be an idiot about this? She’d done the sensible thing. Besides, today was her last day on the project, so she didn’t have time to waste. She was going back to New York tonight.

 

She worked til 5, and she didn’t see or hear from Henry the entire time. She was due to leave on the train at 6, so she took her personal items from her desk, and went back to get her bags from her room, and carried them to the train platform.

The anxious and uncomfortable feeling following her the whole way, but she didn’t know what she could do about it, so she resolutely shoved it down. It would be fine once she got on the train. There was no phone reception there anyway, so the choice would be taken away from her, and then she’d be back in New York, a safe distance from all these confusing feelings, and she wouldn’t have to do anything about them. She could just ignore them until they went away.

She imagined what that would be like. Weeks and months without Henry stretched out in front of her, and she tried to picture herself, working back at her desk in New York, going back to her quarters at night and not calling him, not interacting with him at all, and… she couldn’t. The space she would fill in that imaginary world was empty, like she didn’t exist, like it wasn’t possible.

She dropped her duffel bag on the ground and pulled her phone from her pocket. She dialled Henry before she could think more about it. It rang against her ear and she felt her heart jump into her throat, planned the first thing she would say to him: _Henry, I’m sorry, can you forgive me? I was just trying to help._

“This is Agent Aich, please leave a message.”

She hung up before it could beep and swore under her breath. She checked her watch; the train would leave in about five minutes.

She was willing to risk it. She turned from the platform, toward the escalators, and then she heard someone yell her name. She looked up.

It was Henry, running down the escalators toward her.

She couldn’t help the smile that broke onto her face as he squeezed past two large aliens and hurried to the bottom, carrying something in his hand. The train arrived behind her, wind from the tunnel gusting against her back as he finally reached her.

“Hi,” she blurted, suddenly nervous. "Are you—”

“I didn’t realise you were going back today,” he said, out of breath.

“Yeah, it’s today, Right now, actually,” she said, glancing back at the train that was ready for passengers to board.

“Wait, wait just a moment. I, erm, I got you this.” He thrust something at her. She looked down, taking it hesitantly. It was a box of chocolates, with a little card sticky-taped to the top. She couldn’t help one eyebrow shooting up.

“Do you like chocolates?” he asked, squinting. “I wasn’t sure, I just wanted to get you something. Chuck them out if you don’t.”

“No, no, I like them,” she said quickly. “Thank you. What… is this for?”

“Oh, you know, thanks for your work on the project and thanks for… well, just read the card.”

She moved to open it but he grabbed her hand, stopping her. “Not now,” he amended. “I mean, later, when you’re on the train.”

“Okay…” she said. His hand was still grasping hers. “So you’re not angry at me, for— you know, with Zeeltor and—”

“No, no. I went to see him. He gave me some pills, to help with the—” he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of his head. “He said they should help repair whatever damage was done, and talking about it is the main thing I should be doing anyway…”

“Well, I’m happy to talk to you about it anytime,” she offered. _Please call me,_ she wanted to add, but couldn’t.

He smiled. “Thanks, Em. Really, thank you.”

She nodded. The departure warning buzzed loudly, signaling that the train was about to leave.

“I’d better go.”

“Right,” he said. He withdrew his hand, and she clapped him on the shoulder, awkwardly, and then he came in for what she thought was a kiss on the cheek, but she turned her face the wrong way and, somehow, their lips met. Brief, surprised and awkward, but still enough for heat to flood her from head to toe, in the two seconds before she unfroze and managed to step back. Henry’s eyes were wide, and he looked as surprised as her, but there was no time to say anything further; the train doors were closing. She turned and jumped through just in time.

Through the window, she saw him smooth his shirtfront self-consciously, then he laughed to himself and looked up, meeting her eyes and waving as the train moved away, leaving him behind.

Em drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she quickly found a seat as the train picked up speed. Once she was strapped in, she remembered the gift, and she opened the envelope stuck to the chocolate box.

Inside was a little card. It said ‘thank you’ in shiny letters on the front. Inside was Henry’s messy handwriting.

 

_Dear M,_

_Thank you for helping me._

_Sorry for being an idiot._

_I wanted to ask if you’d consider requesting a transfer to London. I know your career is important to you, so you should do whatever you think is best. If not, then perhaps I’ll try to transfer to New York._

_I miss you when you’re not around._

_Love, Henry_

 

The heat that had flooded her a moment ago when their lips met returned in full force. She glanced around, suddenly worried someone was watching her and reading her thoughts, but no one was. She looked back down at the card, opening it again, nervous.

_Love, Henry._

She swallowed hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am punishing myself by not wrapping this fic up because I have so many other ideas I want to explore, and this has actually been a bit challenging to get right (I *hope* I'm getting it right at least) but this felt like the right place to end this chapter. One more coming (hopefully no more than one, for my sanity).
> 
> Anyway, please comment and let me know what you thought, or chat with me [on Tumblr](https://roqueamadi.tumblr.com/) \- or check out [my new sideblog dedicated to H/M](https://mibhandm.tumblr.com/) ^_^


End file.
